


The Anniversary Effect

by Star4545



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexual Simon Snow, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Penny and Baz live together, Photo Shoots, Podcast, Temporary Character Death, penny and baz are bffls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28660425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star4545/pseuds/Star4545
Summary: Welcome to Mage World News, a podcast which discusses important Mage news of past and present. Today we are discussing the Chosen One, Simon Snow, ten years after his death. I am joined by author and my flat mate, T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch who recently published his first book entitled, “The Chosen One Effect”
Relationships: Penelope Bunce & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 14
Kudos: 65





	The Anniversary Effect

“Welcome to Mage World News, a podcast which discusses important Mage news of past and present. Today we are discussing the Chosen One, Simon Snow, ten years after his death. I am joined by author and my flat mate, T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch who recently published his first book entitled, **“The Chosen One Effect”.** Can you tell the listeners what your book is about?”

My leg bounces up and down in a mix of anxiety and excitement. I always love doing podcasts with Penny. Her podcast studio in the living room of our shared flat is one of my favorite places. It spans our whole table and we just invested in a bunch of fancy equipment. I settle in with a mug of tea.

“The book summarizes the story of the Chosen One from him being found to his death. I talked with a lot of people who worked at Watford at the time or who were students there. I’m the first to write a book about him since the new information broke last year. I think because of that, my book has a particular perspective on it. Also, I am the first “Watford Chosen” to write about him.”

“What is a Watford Chosen?” Penny asks.

“Watford Chosen relates to a student that was at Watford the same time as Simon. At the beginning of the term’s usage, it was mostly talking about children like us who were the exact same age as the Chosen One and at Watford.”

“How does being a Watford Chosen give you a unique perspective?”

“Well first, I can report on what it felt like to be a student at the time. It was all very exciting for us as teenagers. I was able to get in touch with a lot of students too. I found it important not just to focus on the facts, but also to gain perspective on how big Simon Snow was and how that lead to everything that happened after.”

“Great! Can you tell the story of Simon Snow?”

“No. I can’t,” I say deadpan.

The two of us laugh, but it’s filled with nervous dread. Even though the death of the Chosen One was ten years ago, a lot of us Watford Chosens still feel affected by the passing. I clear my throat.

“The legend states that he came out of nowhere and appeared one day at the gates of Watford. He waited days and days in the harsh windy weather of December. He tugged and tugged at the gates, but to no avail.

“Some sources said he waited a mere 24 hours while other sources said he waited months. All accounts said the same thing about his appearance; when found the boy had long blond curly hair that settled around his ears, unsettling blue eyes that “melted a person’s soul”, and two long scrapes down each one of his arms which matched the two red cuts running down his cheeks making him look like he was crying tears of blood. He was stark and malnourished. He was wearing a long shirt (the color is debated) with no pants or trousers. He didn’t have any belongings with him.

“When found, he didn’t speak. The teachers weren’t sure if he knew English at all. Whenever they talked, he looked at them blankly. What everyone seemed to realize, and quickly at that, was that he was malleable, letting the doctors poke and prod him for answers. When the DNA test came back, there was no lineage. He didn’t have any DNA that traced him to anyone. The tests for magic came back with alarming results. The doctors had never seen so much. There was more magic in his body than blood. The doctors estimated he wouldn’t live that long.

“He just came out of thin air, but the World of Mages accepted him as one of their own. There had never been an account of a boy made from magic. There had never been an account of a boy coming from nowhere who found Watford but couldn’t open the gates. He was made of magic, but the gates didn’t recognize that. Nevertheless, he took the World of Mages by storm. Every Mage news outlet was reporting on the small boy found at the gates.

“They didn’t know his age or name. They guessed his age to be around 10, but because he wouldn’t speak and was quite small, some thought he could be as young as seven. The students deemed him the Chosen One. He would shy away at the name, but it always kept with him. He must be chosen; it was the only way to explain that phenomenon. The Mage held a naming contest like a panda at the zoo, the name chosen was Simon Snow.

“Historians gave him different magical objects to try. First was a cross fastened on a chain to wear around his neck. While this held no magical significance to him, the Mage thought it to be important that Simon was seen as a good boy with Christian ideals, ergo he kept the cross to wear. Next was a pair of trainers, but no amount of magic could change the size, and they didn’t fit his feet. Last was an artifact found by the Mage in one of his journeys, a boney wand with a wooden handle. It was big in Simon’s hands, about 12 inches was the wand’s length.

“After the wand was found, it seemed the perfect time to introduce him properly to the World of Mages. In every Mage’s house at the time, you could find the World of Mage-izines issue from January 2007 titled _Meet the Chosen One._ ”

“Ah yes! I remember that magazine! When it came in the mail, my brothers and I all crowded around it as my mother read it aloud. Do you remember his cover in 2017?”

She knows very well that I do know that photo. I keep it in my room, tucked away in a drawer, hidden in my journal. I can’t imagine the humiliation I would feel if Penny found out I still had a copy, ten years after his death.

“Who doesn’t?” I say lightly.

“Basically, for those of you who don’t remember this cover. It was to show his growth since finding him ten years prior to that. For those watching the video, there will be a photo onscreen now, but he is wearing a leather jacket scrunched up his elbows with a white shirt underneath of it. Then black trousers and a pair of fashionable trainers. His cross is hung around his neck. His hair is cut short on the sides, long on the top. They tried to cover up the red cuts on his cheeks, but they still show.”

“And they tried to make his eyes less blue,” I groan. “Do you remember the headline?”

“No…” Penelope says.

“It was something like, “Good Guy Gone Bad”.”

“You are joking, no way,” she says, chuckling.

“Who is the historian here?”

Penelope rolls her eyes.

“For you dear listeners, Penny is rolling her eyes at me. And I am—” I give her the middle finger, “--giving her the bird.”

“Why was that the title?”

“Well, at the time, Simon’s image was changing. It became very clear to the World of Mages that Simon wasn’t the perfect Christian boy they hoped for; he was bisexual, pictures surfaced of him at parties, and most importantly he stopped listening to the Mage. This will all make more sense as we talk more about him.”

The pictures of Simon getting wasted at parties makes guilt rile in my stomach. My hands tighten around my mug.

“Anyway, we didn’t even mention the wings on his back,” Penny says, getting us back on topic.

“We will talk about those later,” I say. “But they are basically these huge red, leathery wings on his back. He also has a tail, but you can’t see it in this picture.”

“Do you remember the other photo from that issue? The one that covered the full page?”

“The one where he is sitting down with his elbows on his knees looking straight at the camera with the cross in his mouth?”

Penelope squeals. “Yes!”

“Merlin, he was hot.” I take a moment before continuing. That photo killed me, fueling every dirty thought I had about Simon Snow. “In 2007, the photo on the cover was very different. Simon’s cuts on his face were new or they thought they were new. There was a rumor that he was born with them and will never truly part with them. His long hair had been cut, so the curls looked more tamed. The picture had been edited so his eyes appeared less unsettling, but to anyone with a decent share of magic, it was still found unsettling.”

“Is that really a thing?” Penelope asks.

“What?”

“The decent share of magic thing.”

“Actually, some scientists did do some tests and found out he affected people easier if they had a lot of magic. So, they always affected me while they never bothered some of our Watford classmates. They would always say he had normal blue eyes, but they were piercing to me.”

“They affected me too. When I was really young, whenever he came on TV, my mother and I would grimace.”

I didn’t mention that his eyes were always a comfort to me. Whenever he looked at me, my soul would melt but not in the way it was intended to.

“His clothes were deemed unsettling too; a pair of jeans with a faded Spiderman shirt, the cross glinted from where it rested on his chest. The shirt was short sleeved, so the picture also revealed the long scrapes on his arms. He looked thin, scarily so. The skin hung loosely on his skin like a decomposing corpse. He had a forced smile on his face, showing a mouth of crooked teeth.

“Page 3 revealed a full spread of pictures with an interview. One of the pictures was him holding a sword that rested on his shoulder. His demeanor in this photo was cocky, his mouth quirked into an upwards smirk. The last photo was sullener with the Mage standing behind him, his hand on the small boy’s shoulder. Simon was not smiling and looks rather uncomfortable.

“I brought the original article. Could you read the answers to these interview questions?” I ask, giving the supplemental material to Penny. “The news article reads as follows:

_The World of Mages welcomes our newest addition in the form of a small boy named Simon Snow. Since being found in front of the gates of Watford on New Year’s Day, the boy named Simon Snow by our lovely readers has taken the World of Mages by storm._

_Ebeneza Petty, groundskeeper of the Watford School of Magicks land, found him that cold and winter morning._

**_Q: You were the one to find him. Please elaborate on that experience._** ”

“ ** _A: I was out tending to my goats when I hear a large wailing. I quickly cycled through all the creatures we have on the lands, but none of them have ever made that sound. There were a few stragglers on grounds still, but it wasn’t coming from the direction of the dorms. I hear the wailing again. It sounded like an injured child. I followed the noise and there I saw him. He was small, probably up to my knee. He was scared of me at first. I introduced myself and asked who he was, but he didn’t answer. He stared at me wide eyed, blinking rapidly. Everyone said that upon meeting him his eyes bore into your soul, but I found them quite comforting. I asked him if he could stand and he nodded. He almost fell back to the ground when he tried. I took him straight to the infirmary.”_**

**_“Q: So, he didn’t try to hurt you?”_ **

**“ _A: No. If anything, he was scared of me. I stayed with him through the tests and interrogations. He never fought anyone. They tried truth spells, memory spells, everything they could to get a word out of him. They did so many tests on him, but he never made a peep.”_**

**_“Q: No one knows where he came from?”_ **

**_“A: Well, see, here is the thing Linda, he didn’t come from anywhere. The tests all show that he has no lineage or DNA. He just came from magic, presumably out of thin air.”_ **

_“We also asked the Mage questions regarding the boy._

**_Q: What are your impressions about Simon? Do you think he is dangerous?”_ **

**_“A: I think he is a lovely boy. Really, I do. He never throws any type of fit. Without knowing if he speaks or understands English, I think he could be very valuable to us if he learns to cast. I think he has the potential to be dangerous, which is why I deem him valuable to the World of Mages.”_ **

**_“Q: Are you saying that you would use him for violence?”_ **

**_“A: Not necessarily.”_ **

**_“Q: How are you planning to raise him?”_ **

**_“A: He is currently staying at Watford in the infirmary. Until we get more answers, he is under a strict lockdown. Until he casts a spell, we don’t know what he is capable of.”_ **

_“We then sat down with the Chosen One ourselves, however the narrative proved true and he did not speak a world to us.”_

“Ugh why did you make me read for the Mage?” Penny whines.

“Payback from two week ago when you made me read in an American accent for the whole show.”

“It was for charity!”

“Whatever,” I say, taking a sip of tea. “The next day, Simon showed signs of being able to cast a spell without opening his mouth. The Mage kept pushing him to cast and Simon did. With a wave of his wand, the Mage flew backwards. Simon had laughed as it happened while the Mage fumed.

“Simon was the first mage to be able to cast a spell without words with no training. In the eyes of the people, he was the Chosen One. The World of Mages wasn’t sure what he was chosen for, but at least they had him.”

“And what did he do for the World of Mages?”

“I’ll get to that later. First, you have to understand just how popular he was. Think about One Direction’s fame at their height. If Simon exited the Watford grounds for a photoshoot or an interview (in which someone would talk for him), magicians would flood him, asking for pictures with cell phones or some spell that would allow for a picture to be taken with their magical instrument; albeit that spell never took a good photo unless you understood the shift in pop culture and technology of the time.

“Everyone loved him except for the Coven, who explicitly said they did not support the adoption of him into society. They did not want him to be on Watford grounds or even have him in the community. They said Simon was dangerous. Concern overridden by the hatred of the Mage sparked riots from Coven members outside the gates of Watford. None of it was handled diplomatically and during winter term break, Malcolm Grimm and other members of the Coven blew up the White Chapel, unknowing that Simon Snow was praying in it (or they said they didn’t know but really did know).

“Simon’s body wasn’t found amongst the rubble of the destroyed building, but in the dining hall. When the Mage finally found him, Simon was chowing down on a teatime scone as if nothing had happened. The attack was deemed: “the Explosion of the White Chapel and the Sour Cherry Scone.”

“The conflict fizzled out before term started again. Simon refused to fight and after the Coven gave the Mage large sums of money to replace the old tower, all became pacifistic.”

“Just a note, Malcolm Grimm is your father,” Penelope says.

I eye Penny. I look down at the list of agreed topics and it isn’t on there. “Yes, and I don’t agree with his actions. I also do not support his ideals. I do not wish to speak on him.”

“Let’s move on then,” Penny agrees, reaching out and giving my arm a sympathetic pat. 

“There was no shortage of news coming out; most of being tabloids with captions like “Simon Snow Getting Fat?” with a picture of the still super skinny boy. The World of Mages never had a celebrity before, so they took it and ran.

“What these news outlets tended to forget was that he was a child. As the World of Mages got accustomed to him and the whole “boy found at the gates” became commonplace, the questions got weirder. They would ask this presumably ten-year-old boy about his love life. Similar to all the other interviews he had that year, he would just stare at that blankly, none of the words tended to sink in. Suddenly, the World of Mages adopted that Simon was the Chosen One so he must be mature. He could be hit on, have cameras shoved in his face, and he could be shamed for putting on weight even though he needed to.

“During the 2007 Summer term and into the 2007 Fall term, students at Watford would sneak into Simon’s private room at the infirmary to get close to him. It is unsure whether students wanted to be his friend or just went to harass him. It became a challenge at Watford to try and sneak in and subject Simon to crazy things like kissing him, trying to make him talk, casting spells on him (most notably it seemed that **Candle in the wind** was the go-to spell), beating him up, and good old sophomoric pranks.

“Simon let this happen. We aren’t sure if it was because he didn’t understand or because he was lonely. He never fought back. Many of the students reported that he always had a smile on his face when someone entered the room. He would drop whatever he was doing. He was an incredibly light sleeper so he would wake up immediately and would scoot over on his bed so they would have a place for them to sit.

“However, more and more students started to go to beat him up over anything. No one was coming to be friendly; it was all a part of a game. After a while of at least two Watford students beating him up daily, he had enough. Simon had gotten into fighting stance, waiting for his next opponent. He heard the door click and immediately lunged for the person at the door, not waiting to see who it is. Simon pinned the person down to the ground, his sword up against the person’s neck. Simon then realized, or maybe the Mage said something, who he was holding at sword point. The Mage said in an interview that Simon immediately dropped the sword and looked sympathetic. Simon was moved to a room in the Mage’s quarters for further observation. I interviewed some people that snuck in the infirmary for the book and many of them didn’t regret hurting him during their time at Watford.”

“Did you know anyone who did this?” Penny asks me.

“Personally, I don’t. Do you?”

“One of my older brothers went into his room. He charmed video cameras, so we still have the footage. I brought some to show you. I’ll put them on screen for video watchers. Warning: there is non-consensual kissing and some violence. I’ll put a time stamp for anyone who wants to skip.”

Penelope turns her laptop towards me and clicks the play button. I narrate as I watch it.

“Okay, so one of Penelope’s brothers is going into the room. Simon is smiling at him. It’s all quite cute. Simon’s eyes are really blue even through the bad recording. Penelope’s brother holds Simon down and starts to kiss him. Simon is squirming but he can’t get out of the hold. His lips leave Simon’s, and he starts punching Simon. Simon does not try and escape, he just lets it happen. After he throws a few punches, the older student starts to kiss Simon again. Simon appears less squirmy this time and allows for the kiss to happen. There are a few more punches thrown, and then he leaves Simon alone. Penelope’s brother is happily cheering that he did it. There are wails in the background.”

We take a moment to process the video.

“Fuck Penny. I thought this was a family friendly podcast,” I joke.

“Well sometimes the truth is hard to bear. There are a good number of these videos online. I cannot condone watching them, but I think Ms. Mage on YouTube made a compilation once. Probably it’s been taken down by now.”

“Yeah, a lot of these videos came back right after Simon’s death. It’s very hard to watch, but, um… I guess we should continue.” I take another sip of my tea.

“Let’s keep this train rolling.”

“So, this is where our stories intertwine with Simon’s. As I said earlier, both Penny and I are Watford Chosens. Simon was in the same year as us and we both knew him. I want to start by explaining how Watford handled Simon going to school and then both Penny and I can tell our stories.”

“Ooo, a podcast exclusive. Baz doesn’t talk about his experience with Simon in his book.”

“Watford decided that Simon was going to be like a normal Watford student. They were hoping that a mixture of classes and positive social interaction with those around his supposed age would help him to talk. The Mage, the main believer of this, did not consult any psychologists to see if this would be the best option, but the Mage didn’t care.

“Being a normal Watford student included having a roommate, eating in the dining hall, going to classes, and doing coursework. Simon would also train with the Mage sometimes too. He also was a defense midfielder on the football team.”

“The majority of people were nice to him; however, they did still try to wind him up. Mostly boys would push him, call him names, or try and kiss him to get him to fight them. Of course, Simon never stooped to their level, but it causes a tension overall. Everyone still feared him. The first few weeks of term, he wouldn’t put his sword away and just carried it,” Penny adds.

“It was obvious in class that Simon was really smart. When he had time, he would sit in the library and read books in Latin. We hadn’t started Latin yet. No one knew where he came from, but somehow, he knew Latin. During this period, I think more and more people started to realize that he did understand everything that is happening around him.”

My heart hurts for me. I remember coming back to the room in Mummers and a boy was hurting Simon right outside our door. I was so angry, I almost pushed the boy down the stairs.

“There was a shift there with the Mage too. His training with Simon got more intense. I think the Mage was doing everything he could to try and make Simon speak, but Simon always stayed silent.

“During our years at Watford, many things came to attack the campus, but Simon never made a peep. He would fight dragons without even opening his mouth. He was incredible to watch. Just incredible. He was good at controlling his magic, unlike a lot of news sources will tell you.” My throat starts to clench up. He didn’t realize he was going to get emotional talking about this.

“I think it’s time to share our personal experiences with the Chosen One,” Penny says, saving the day. “I was his best friend at Watford. Many people will say this, but I actually am… or I guess was. We would often do coursework together. He would write these long papers about everything that he experienced, and he gave them to me, so I could try to understand. It was really upsetting, especially at twelve years old to read about all the horrible stuff. I kept all the papers he wrote me. You can see all of them in Baz’s book. He was one of the sweetest people I ever met. He had been hurt, and hurt, and hurt, but he never let his motivations waver. Was he scared of me at first? Yes. But we quickly became close.”

“How did you meet him?” Baz asks.

“It was in magic words and I sat down next to him. I told him we were going to be friends and as soon as he realized I wasn’t going to jump him, he trusted me. He came to my house for Christmas one year. My mother also fainted when he got in the car with us. When we got to the house, my mother pulled me by the hair and reprimanded me for putting our family in danger. Simon was overwhelmed by my family, but I think he had fun.” Penny has this wonderful smile on her face as she talks about him. She’s always had an easier time talking about her experience with him than I have. “What about you Baz? How do you know the Chosen One?”

“Well, my story is more complicated than that. I was his roommate.”

Penny gasps. I roll his eyes. “And they were roommates.”

“I know, I know. I don’t even mention that in my book, but we were drawn together by the Crucible. I think Penny and I both had this feeling of being starstruck. I shook his hand and looked into his eyes. They were so powerful, I felt as though I would fall. He had smiled lightly at me. I followed him to our room, scared shitless. My father always told me to stand clear of him but now I would be sleeping less than five feet apart. We were always in competition with each other which made for an awkward rooming situation. We were both headstrong, hoping to beat the other one. We fought a lot and hurt each other, but it was never really violent. It was just how two boys roughhouse, not anything more than that. We would laugh after it, when we were both breathing into each other’s faces on the floor.

“If that sounds like the beginning to a love story, you can bet your bottom dollar you are right. It’s pretty tragic though so get your tissues. Simon and I never had a relationship like he did with Penny. He never wrote me essays about his past. I never really told him about mine either. Until I started writing my book, I had never seen the essays he gave to Penny. Somehow Simon and I had a mutual understanding of each other that never faded away. Even before we were each other’s punching bag, he never wanted to leave my side.”

“During the first week of term, if Simon had to leave Baz, he would cry. We always thought it was some weird side effect of the Crucible.”

“Maybe in hindsight it was. We started dating in fifth year. I was so in love with him. I never really knew if he loved me back. He would sometimes sign I love you to me or write it down in his beautiful cursive. Though the first part of our downfall was what historians like to call “Simon’s very bad day.” It was during our…”

“Seventh year?”

“Yeah, that sounds right. The Mage had finally found a spell that would force Simon to talk to him. It wouldn’t wear off for 24 hours. The practice was definitely illegal. He could only tell the truth and he found it hard to stop talking. The Mage questioned him, but Simon being as smart as he was started speaking in different languages. The Mage started fighting Simon. In a rare occurrence, the Mage was actually winning the fight. Simon was too preoccupied with his jabbering. Simon got out of there with a few scraps, but nothing too bad. We had all seen him much worse after training with the Mage.

“On his way back to the dormitory, a large boy (at least 6’2) stops him. Simon’s really not looking for any more interactions; he’s tired and he still hasn’t put his sword away, but this guy keeps getting in his way. The guy grabs Simon’s arm and pushes him against on the buildings. Simon’s sword clanks to the ground. Simon doesn’t try to fight, making sure that he doesn’t talk in front of this boy. The boy starts kissing Simon against his will. He runs through spells in his mind, but without the wand in his hand, he is powerless. Didn’t you find him, Penny?”

“Yeah, I was in the dining hall and saw the boy grab Simon. I quickly grabbed my stuff and stopped it before it went any further. As soon as we were out of earshot, Simon started talking to me about why he was talking. It was weird to hear his voice, how fast the words left his mouth.”

“Then you both came to Simon and my room. He ran to me and explained to me the whole situation. Of course, I wasn’t mad at him. But after that day, he had a very hard time getting close to me. He wouldn’t kiss me. He would sometimes hold my hand, but only in our room. I didn’t mind, but I was nervous for him. He refused to see anyone or tell anyone what happened. And it was weird to hear him talk, but then go back to silence. That night he told me that he always felt drawn to me and always knew that it was his life’s mission to find me.”

“You never told me that!” Penny exclaims. “This isn’t for the podcast; I actually had no idea.” Simon must’ve not told her either as he never wrote it down in his letters.

“I thought Simon must’ve told you at some point.”

She shakes her head. I ponder this for a few moments. I can’t believe he never told her.

“Oh, wow okay, really a podcast exclusive then,” I say chuckling.

“On that night, did you tell you that he loved you?”

“No, I think he was too shaken to profess love.”

“As if “it’s my life’s mission to find you” isn’t already romantic. Ugh, you two were disgusting.”

I blush. A few tears bristle in the corners of my eyes, but I keep going.

“By the end of our time at Watford in 2015, Simon was exhausted. He was fed up with the constant slew of monsters he had to fight, but the World of Mages kept saying that fighting things was his mission. He had a sword for fuck’s sake. He still remained silent and his relationships with the two of us became strained. He was constantly away and very distant when he came back. The Mage wouldn’t let him go to uni or move away from Watford.

“After particularly harsh mission and a long-drawn-out fight with the Mage, he sprouted dragon wings and a tail and flew to the apartment I was in with Penny. He had been away for weeks. Some mage caught him with the wings and tail, and it became a symbol of his separation with the Mage and of a new darker image. Like on the 2017 cover of that magazine which was the last piece of media with him before his death.”

“He slept at our apartment. He didn’t pay rent, but we didn’t mind. We tried to see if he wanted to apply to university; he was one of the top students of our year, but he instead opted for hiding out in Baz’s bedroom, reading books in foreign languages while drinking rose´or smoking cigarettes. It was something out of _the Secret History._ ”

“My room reeked of smoke most of the time,” I say. I would give anything for those days to come back.

Penny’s nose scrunches up just at the mention.“Then came the days when Simon would go out and pick-up people at bars and bring them back to the apartment.”

“Mind you, Simon and I were still dating at the time. He had a hard time being intimate with me, but it seemed like being with strangers was the right amount of separation for him.”

My heart ached. Sometimes he would kick me out of my own room so he could have sex on my bed. I remember hearing grunts of some other man in my bed. I would walk for hours until the sun started to peek up in the sky. The person would be gone, and I would climb into my bed, putting my arm around Simon. His lips would ghost over mine, his head would find its way to my shoulder. 

“The Mage started showing up at our apartment trying to take Simon back. He didn’t like the image that the media was presenting him as. Not to mention, we had said media coming to our apartment at least once a day trying to get quotes and pictures. Both Baz and I were fed up with it. Simon didn’t seem at all concerned. We tried to talk to him, but he just got angry or pretended we didn’t exist.”

“Finally, we had enough. We told him that if he didn’t stop this behavior, he would have to leave,” I say, sighing. The guilt in my stomach rears its ugly head again. “It wasn’t out best moment, but it did stop the smoking and the bringing home of strangers. He had written us a letter that night. Penny, do you have it?”

“Yeah, want to read it?”

I nod, grabbing the water damaged paper from her hand. Simon had spilt wine on it before giving it to us.

“ _Dear Penelope and Basil,_

_I’m sorry for my actions in the past few months. It was unjust of me to bring that kind of chaos into your flat. You have welcomed your arms to me and yet I took your kindness for granted. I’ve never had this much freedom before. I have always been a prisoner to someone or something. I’ve always wanted to be in some type of bacchanal, where I could forgo the mind and just live. I think I lost who I am in the past few months. Without constant battle, who am I? I think I’m just an angry man. My one mission, I keep failing over and over again._

_Penelope— You know more about me than anyone; I’m confused why you never saw this coming. I admire everything about you. From the way you cook your eggs to your constant patience with me. You never expect anything from me but greatness without pushing it onto me. You’re fearless when talking with reporters and forceful with the Mage. I know in my heart that I have hurt you and I apologize tenfold. You have and always will be my best friend._

_Basil, my love – I can’t put to words how angry I am for putting you in the situation I did. I understand if you never want to get near me again. I would understand if you kicked me onto the kerb and never thought to look back. I don’t know why I felt like it was okay to snog other people when we are meant to be. Then again, I never knew why I had to find you, I just knew I had to. That red string of fate could’ve been for you to be my enemy or some random chav on the tube, but you turned to be my greatest love. When I am with you, my heart feels as though it could soar and yet it’s all too much. My love for you is like my magic, an endless vat of wonder, but with too many negatives. I’m worried one day my eyes will do upon you what they do to everyone. If we were to stay together, I would let you kiss those worries away. In the darkness, I would trace Latin poetry onto your arm until I would hear the sweet, steady breath of sleep. I’ll stop all my bad behaviors. Not for you, but to improve myself. I acted like a child in a toy store (too many options to choose from in the face of freedom). I will apologize every day if you see fit._

_Oh! si tu pouvais lire dans mon coeur, tu verrais la place où je t’ai mise!_

_I love you IN PERPETUUM ET UNUM DIEM._

_To both – again I am filled with guilt about my actions. I hope you can see me for who I’ve always been and not the selfish jerk. I’m supposed to be perfect and yet you can see that I’m far from it. If you want to turn me back to the Mage, so be it. I will not feel angry with you for doing so. That is a punishment for a crime that I’ve committed._

_Your Dearest,_

_Simon”_

I can’t help but cry after reading it. The letter is framed next to a picture of him in our living room, but it hasn’t been taken out in a long time.

“Pen, can we take a break?”

She nods and I stand up. I compose myself enough to walk outside to the balcony. The hot summer air melts on my face. I lean my body against the railing, watching the pigeons make a habitat of the pavement below. The hustle and bustle of the London streets never seem to quiet.

When I am alone and sad, I sometimes feel Simon’s presence; I can feel his arms around my waist or see him sitting there beside me. Today, I imagine his arm linked with mine. I look to my right and he’s there. He’s already looking at me and says in fluent Mandarin, “Zuì měihǎo de gǎnjué jiùshì dāng nǐ kànzhe tā shí, tā yǐjīng zài níngshìzhe nǐle.” _The best feeling is when you look at him and he is already staring._ He never spoke this quote to me, but he would write in many of his papers to me. I can only imagine what the words would sound like coming out of his mouth. I only heard his voice once, but it’s still clear as day.

He looks the same as he did the last time I saw him; in the same clothes, with the same haircut, with the same ring on his left ring finger. I feel the ghost of a warm mouth pressed to my cheek. His smile saddens when I seem to find comfort in the kiss.

I rest my head on his shoulder, trying to forget that he’s dead. He will always haunt my heart as well as Penny’s. She says that sometimes she sees him too. It’s why we live together; we loved him so much that we can never love anyone else. So many people have told us to get on with our lives, but it’s hard to overlook.

“Bad day, my love?” His warm hand pets my hair.

“Just a bad moment,” I say.

My visions of Simon always talk even though if he was still living, he would never talk to me.

“I’ll be back to you soon.” He always says this.

I once asked Penny if the Simon she saw ever said it and she nodded. I don’t know how our visions link, but they do. I sometimes wonder if this is a work of magic. It’s not a ghost because I can touch him, I can feel the warmth of his skin, and his eyes are still the piercing blue.

“Yeah, you always say that” I say.

“I’m telling the truth this time. I promise.”

The first time I saw him, I was furious. I was angry about his death and the audacity for him to haunt me. Now, I’m subdued. I take my eyes off him and the weight of his arm linked in mine disappears. A few strangled sobs escape before I go back into the flat.

“I’m sorry for putting that letter on the docket. We can cut that part out—”

“No, keep it,” I say, putting my headphones back on. I cast a quick **Some like it hot** on my tea.

“Was he out there with you?”

I nod, taking a deep breath, regaining my composure. “Where were we, Pen?”

“The dark year.”

“Oh right, okay, so we forgave, Simon. He improved greatly. His mood alleviated into the Simon that we knew at Watford. He started talking about how university might give him the passion he’s looking for. He was going to Tesco one day and he never came back. Penny and I were worried sick. Next news we heard was that the Mage was dead, and Simon killed him.”

“I had known that Simon had some baggage against the Mage that was only built up over the years. He once confided in me that he wanted to do it. I knew that the mission he talked about in his letter was killing him. I thought he was finally over the obsession to kill him. I guess I was wrong.”

We take a moment of silence for the death of the Mage, although he both detest him.

“So now the question lies, why would Simon kill the Mage?” Penny asks.

“Well, last year news broke of the Mage’s plan and Simon’s roots. Simon was made by a spell cast by the Mage. A popular misconception is this was done through a series of birth rites, but the truth is the spell used was “let’s play Sims” where the Mage basically made Simon like a sim. He took all the traits he thought Simon should have and made him into what was supposed to be the perfect man. It explained how he knew so many languages without ever studying them, why he knew sword fighting, how he was kind, charismatic, and so handsome. After years of scientists trying to figure out how Simon happened, they found traces of this spell and the Mage’s magical imprint. The spell was supposed to activate right away. Entries in the Mage’s journals stated he planned to put Simon in a boy’s home and pick him up at Watford age.

“In the Mage’s defense, he seemed to think the spell had worked properly and that he was automatically transported where the Mage wanted him. The Mage only realized something was wrong when Simon showed up at Watford a year early. The day Simon popped into the world was on the tenth anniversary of the spell being cast.”

“Simon had told me what life was like before he woke. He was always hungry, always thirsty, always tired. He knew who made him, that he was a mage, that he needed to find Baz, and that Watford was his home. The place, he referred to it as the womb, was either way too bright or pitch black. His mind would constantly be racing, but whenever he tried to scream for help, no words would come out,” Penelope said. “He woke up in front of Pitch Manor, but they wouldn’t let him in.”

“What?”

“Did he not tell you?” Penelope asks.

I shake my head. “He came to the manor?”

“Yeah, before he went to Watford.”

My mind spins. He was so close to finding me. If he was let in, we could’ve saved him from so much of the trauma. I could’ve helped him. I could’ve been there for him as he navigated the world. I take a breath and try to remember my place.

“He was vengeful because the Mage had left him alone and that he continued to let harm come his way. Over and over and over, the Mage had hurt him. The Mage cornered Simon on his way to Tesco to try and get him to go on a mission. Simon obliged and went with him. As soon as they were isolated, Simon took out his sword and plunged it into the Mage’s chest. Simon was so overcome with grief that he didn’t try to run. He sprouted his wings as if he was going to fly away but never did. He sat there with the Mage until some Coven members found him. The case was televised, and we were called to be witnesses.”

“Simon wasn’t happy even though we were testifying on his behalf. He was embarrassed among all else, especially when the Coven used the same spell the Mage did to make him talk.

“As the first words rang out into the hall, the entire audience held their breath as they had never heard him speak before. The court sentenced him to a few years in jail, the decreased count was ruling toward the Mage’s incessant hurt towards Simon. Most of the World of Mages didn’t know who to root for, but on every magazine throughout his trial was the picture of him beside the dead body or his mugshot. I think every Mage can say where they were when they saw the picture of Simon with his wings sprouted behind him, his white shirt smattered with blood, and his peacoat lying on the Mage’s face. I picked him up after his two-year sentence, but as soon as we left the jail, he sprouted wings and left. He did the magazine cover and then disappeared.”

“The World of Mage’s declared him dead ten years ago. His reported death was on June 21st, 2017 after Watford’s goatherd Ebb found him malnourished and dehydrated at the Watford gates. This time he was clothed, and his dragon wings shielded him from the outside world. No one knows how long he waited there or why he did. There was a closed funeral. We weren’t even invited. He was buried in the tombs under the White Chapel. His grave is marked off so no one can enter. That’s the story of Simon Snow.”

Penelope claps. I rub my sweaty palms on my loose black trousers.

“Thanks so much for talking about this. Simon Snow is an important part of magician history. Without him we wouldn’t have such high care in the Coven to elect good leaders and we also wouldn’t have the SS Act which makes sure Watford is accessible to every student. I know that now something like that is commonplace, but there was a lot of inequality back when we were students.” Penelope smiles at me.

“I’m always glad to chat. If you are feeling generous, there is a donate link in the description for the Chosen One organization which helps to provide shelters, food, and education to underprivileged mages. Also, there is a link to our website in the description as well,” I say.

“Thanks for listening. We’ll be back real soon with some more Mage World News.”

Penelope ends the recording and I take off my headphones.

“Are you doing alright?” She asks me.

I nod. “As alright as ever.” I take a sip of my tea. “Do you think Simon would be angry about me telling the world about us?”

“Are you joking? He loved you so much, Baz. I’m sure he would scream it from the rooftops if he could. I still can’t believe ten years later you have doubts about that.” Penelope comes over to me and brings me into a hug. “He loved you and I love you. I’m proud that you were able to talk openly about it. You finally got that off your chest.”

“How are you so calm, cool, and collected right now?” I ask.

“I’ve had a lot of time to heal, Baz. I need to learn how to move away from… him.” Penelope ruffles my hair. “No worries, big guy, I’m not going to up and leave you in the dust. It’s getting dangerously close to _if we aren’t married by forty, we’ll marry each other_ deal.”

“Wouldn’t you rather be with a guy who will be into you?”

Penelope laughs at me. “I don’t really want to meet a new guy right now. I don’t need a relationship to survive.”

“If Simon was still here, would you be more open to finding someone?”

Penelope shrugs, finally letting go of me. She starts to put the recording equipment away.

“You proposed to him. Soon, you were going to move out. I don’t need romance to survive, but I can’t live alone. I don’t want to think about it though. I am happy where I am in my life right now. I have a successful podcast and good friends. I have a good life.”

I pick up the letter from the table. _Oh! si tu pouvais lire dans mon coeur, tu verrais la place où je t’ai mise!._ Oh! If you could read my heart, you would see the place where I put you!

I sigh, my heart aching for the love Simon once gave to me. I can picture him sitting on the sofa with his annotated copy of _the Secret History_ or _the Picture of Dorian Gray._ I would sit at the table doing coursework and he would excitedly snap his fingers to get my attention. I would look up from the novel that I was reading and walk over to him. He would point to a passage and I would read it aloud for him. He liked when I read to him even though his favorite copy of _Dorian_ was in Latin, a language I’m less than excellent at.

I always wondered why Simon didn’t try to write something of his own. All his letters to me were written in delicate prose, each word dripping with languish. He would write late into the night and stuff them in my school bag for me. Even during the dark year with the stimulants and the sleeping around, he wrote me at least one letter a week. I think he treated it like his diary, so I could catch a glance into his mind. Sometimes, though, they were love letters filled with poetry written in one of his favorite foreign languages. Some of which I did not know how to read, so he would include a translation. I miss seeing his blocky Chinese characters. I miss everything about his letters.

The sun is starting to set by the time Penny posts the episode. Every year on the anniversary, we have a Simon Snow feast of all his favorite foods. This year’s leaves me full but emotionally exhausted.

I thought writing my book would help me process these emotions and let me get back out there. It did in some regards, but in other ways it left me wishing I could ask him questions. When Penny asked me to talk about him, I thought that would alleviate all the guilt I felt about not searching for him or not being the one to pick him up that day. I wonder if I picked him up would he have come home with me.

Penny cleans up by use of magic. Neither of us have the emotional stamina to load the dishwasher and do things the normal way.

We watch television for about an hour before I retire to my bedroom. Normally we stay up to watch the clock go from June 21st to the 22nd, but I don’t have the stamina this year. All I want to do is scroll through pictures of him on my phone and wallow in the grief.

I open the door to my room and jump when I see Simon lying on my bed, reading _the Picture of Dorian Gray._ His dragon wings are flushed behind him and his tail is wrapped around his leg. I want to scream, but as soon as he sees I’ve entered, he runs up to me and puts his left hand over my mouth. His warm hand feels real against my mouth. The cold metal of his engagement ring touches my lip. He kicks the door shut behind me. The window is open, blasting warm air into the room. His shoes are lined up directly underneath.

“What the fuck?” I mumble against his hand. This can’t just be a vision. I wasn’t even thinking about him enough to conjure him.

I scan him. He’s wearing the outfit he was buried in. I know because I chose the outfit. His favorite navy peacoat with a basic white shirt underneath of it and brown trousers. He isn’t wearing his cross. I don’t think he was found wearing it. His curly hair covers his eyes.

I take his left wrist in my hand and move his hand from my face. I push his hair away and stare into those blue eyes that haunt my dreams. I swear they’ve gotten bluer. I put my hands on his cheeks, rubbing over the cuts that never seem to heal. It doesn’t hurt him when I do that, he feels no pain on his face. They are more of an unfortunate birthmark to him.

“Are you really here?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nods his head.

“How?”

He takes a note from his pocket.

“Should I get Penny?”

He shakes his head.

I look at the note in my hands.

_Dear Penny and Basil,_

_I am writing this from jail. The conditions here are worse than I could ever imagine. If I knew killing the Mage would give me this much trouble, maybe I wouldn’t’ve done it. All jokes aside, I miss you two dearly. Every day is a countdown to when I get to see your shining faces, but I’m afraid that this countdown will be much longer than anticipated._

_Before I killed the Mage, he told me something rather peculiar. He told me I was to die in 2017. Due to the miscalculations of his initial spell, I can only live for ten years at a time. He told me vague instructions on how to fix my life, but it requires a ten-year waiting game._

_I plan to give this letter to whomever picks me up from the jail, although I have to rush quickly to Watford. I want to die there. Being the rather dramatic ass I am, I think it would all be a pretty picture to die where I was found._

_If I somehow forget or am too flustered to give it to you then I must’ve made it through the ten years. This means we will have ten years together and the cycle starts again._

_Unless we follow the Mage’s instructions and try to sort this out. I would much rather spend consecutive years on this Earth alive than ten years on, ten years off._

_The instructions he gave me are as follows:_

_Cast the original spell, let’s play Sims_ , _used and try and find where the problem occurs._

_Yes, those are the only instructions given to me. My worries are that it could reverse age me back to a baby. I hope for everyone’s sake that does not happen. I do not care to be Benjamin Button._

_Do not worry about the consequences, I cleared this with the Coven years ago. Yes, the Coven has known all this time that I would figuratively rise again. If this letter was not given to you before the ten year wait, I’m so sorry. The Coven could not tell you about it and I asked for a tomb that was unfindable._

_I love you two dearly._

_See you soon,_

_Simon_

I look at him and then back down at the paper. “We can tell Penny in the morning. I really just want the night alone with you.” He signs. “I know she would want to do the spell right now and I just want to relax with you.”

“I want to talk about everything, but knowing you, you would like some food. Scones?”

Simon nods, smiling at me. He looks gaunt, similar to how he looked when they first found him.

I exit the room. Penny is still watching television. She watches me as I grab two scones and warm them. I butter them how Simon likes (and how I detest) and grab a glass of water.

“Are you leaving the scones out for Simon like cookies for Santa?” She comes up behind me and takes a piece of the hot scone.

“I’m still hungry.” I start to walk towards my room.

“What is going on? You never eat in your room.” Fuck Penny for being so astute.

“I just want to be alone right now is all,” I say as I turn the knob and enter as quickly as possible.

I put the scones on the table. Simon immediately jumps up from his place on my bed to my desk. He’s taken off his peacoat and his trousers. Merlin, he is so skinny. I cast a silencing spell on the door, so I don’t have to worry about Penny overhearing us. I sit on my bed and watch him as he picks at the scones, humming at each bite.

As he finishes the remnants of the scone, he swivels the chair, so he is staring at me. “What questions do you have?” He signs.

“Did you age?”

He looks older; he has smile lines that intersect with the cuts on his face. There is an air of tiredness on his face that I remember seeing years ago. Simon nods.

“It’s didn’t preserve my 20-year-old body.”

“Were you back in the womb?”

He looks at me aghast. “How do you know about that?”

“Penny showed me the letters you wrote her back at Watford.”

Simon’s face goes red.

“I wrote a book about you.”

He looks at me surprised.

“I was back in the womb, but it was worse this time. I wanted to be with you.”

“Why did you run away from Penny?” I ask.

“I couldn’t stand to face her and act like everything was going to be okay.”

“How much does the Coven know?”

“Everything.”

“I kept seeing visions of you… Penny did too. Was it you?”

Simon shrugs. “Maybe my magic did something without the rest of me knowing. In my dreams, I could sometimes see you. It pained me because I always saw you crying.”

“Are you guilty about killing the Mage?”

Simon shakes his head.

“Do you still love me?”

Simon’s face melts. He comes over to me and kisses my cheek. “Of course, I do. Do you still love me?”

“I never stopped.”

“Any more questions?” Simon signs, sitting down next to me, linking his arm in mine like he did earlier.

“If I picked you up at the jail, would you have come home?”

Simon shrugs. “I don’t know. I reckon it would’ve been hard.”

I can’t think of anything. He sits there beside me, letting tears run down my cheeks. He brings on his left hand to my left cheek, he taps a few times, so I’ll turn my head towards him.

“Can I read your book?” I nod. I go to my bookshelf and hand him the book.

The cover is blue, the same color blue as his eyes, with yellow letters. It’s designed to look like a comic book cover. I didn’t wish to put a picture of him there. He reads over the inside blurb and flips to the back to see my headshot and credentials.

He looks back up at me. “I love that photo,” he signs. 

“Me too.”

“It says that you did English at uni. What happened to LSE?”

I shrug. “Math was not my passion.”

“I’m proud of you.”

I take the book out his hands and tackle him to the bed, pinning him down. “May I kiss you?” I ask.

He has a goofy smile on his face as he nods. Our lips press together and Merlin how I’ve missed this. His arms wrap around my back, pushing me down so I’m closer to him.

I lean my forehead on his for a short break. The goofy smile has found its way back to Simon’s lips; it’s bright and lovely and brings back all the emotions I haven’t allowed myself to feel in ten years. I can feel his breath on my face, it’s warm just like the rest of him.

I see Simon mouth the words “I love you” and then “I’m sorry for everything I’ve done.” A few tears slip from his eyes. I kiss a mole on his forehead and wipe the tears away.

I move so I’m lying against my pillows. I’m still in my day clothes but have no energy to change out of them. Simon comes and lays in my arms. I kiss him again. It’s soft and mushy, nothing like our relationship ten years ago. Before it was harsh lines, pointed edges, dark, beautiful, and terrifying. Right now, is light; I feel encompassed by light. Right now, is quotes about endless love, white dresses, those Tumblr posts that want to make you live in a cottage doing nothing but growing plants and lounging in open fields.

He starts to unbutton my shirt and I let him, no longer wanting to be in my button up. He runs his finger against the hair on my chest, finally placing his hand over my heart. He puts his head there and listens to my heartbeat for what feels like eternity. I grab the annotated copy of _Dorian_ from my bedside table. I read aloud in stilted Latin where the bookmark leaves off. It’s been many years since I read Latin aloud. Simon hums at the words, his eyes drifting shut. I run my hand through his hair.

I thought that we would spend the night in bed, sharing confessions of love and physical examples of it. Instead, it was spent reading separate books as we laid in each other’s arms as if no time had passed between us.

At some point, in the dark of late night, Simon had gotten me worked up. As I laid there, breathing heavily into his mouth, he took care of me. My little sounds make him smirk. He would raise his eyebrows at me every time a noise left my mouth. I wonder if he ever thought about this when he laid in his tomb.

I’m sweaty and tired when I start to come down from the high. Simon spells me clean and gets up to turn off the light. His head makes its way back to my chest, my hand finds its way back to his hair. I trace his back muscles and along his spine. He shivers at the soft touches.

“Can you pop your wings out?”

But he’s already asleep. I hold him tight, afraid that when I wake up, he’ll be gone. But this all feels too real to be a vision. I can feel his weight; his head heavy on my chest and his arms are around my torso. I kiss his head and fall right asleep.

I dream of our wedding; of finally getting to walk down the aisle to see him on the at the end. I dream of what I would say in my vows to him. We are in the backyard of Pitch Manor; the weather is warm to my skin. The garden is decorated beautifully. There is a band playing covers of songs. It’s beautiful and wonderful and so very light. I wish I could live in that dream for all eternity.

However, I’m waken up from the dream by the door of my bedroom opening and a loud, “What the fuck” from Penny. Simon groans from his position on top of me.

“Baz, what the fuck!” She says again as if it will elicit a reaction this time.

“Why are you in my room?” I ask, finally opening my eyes to the harsh light.

“It’s almost noon and I hadn’t seen you up.” Her arms are crossed over her torso. “When did… how did you get a guy in here?”

I’m shocked for a minute that she doesn’t automatically register who it is. His tawny skin is recognizable to any Mage. But I have spent more time admiring his tawny skin than she has, and I have a record of trying to find guys that look like him (not that I’ve slept with a lot of guys in the past ten years).

“He came in through the window.” Not a lie on my part. I hope she can connect the dots: the scones, the copy of Simon’s favorite book on my nightstand (albeit I do read that a lot. I like looking at his notes), the open window, and the freckled skin.

“We are on the fifth floor,” she says, unsatisfied. She sits in my desk chair.

I try to shake Simon awake, but he doesn’t budge. There is a pool of saliva flowing onto my chest from his mouth. I card a hand through his hair, but it does nothing.

“Penny, I am not awake enough for this right now,” I say, hoping she’ll get the message.

But Penny is thick-skinned sometimes, especially about etiquette when your roommate has a sleeping guy on his chest. I’m still trying to shake him awake, but besides some groans, there is no movement. I whisper softly for him to wake up which gets me farther along. I try again.

He tiredly signs, “Why?”

“Penny is here, love,” I say to him.

“Love? How long have you known this guy?” Penny asks.

I sigh loudly. “Penny, it’s Simon!”

Simon rolls off of me and gives Penny a wave. He still hasn’t opened his eyes. I grab the letter from my night table and hold it out for Penny. She scans over it quickly.

When she finishes, she climbs into my bed and hugs Simon. It’s all very comforting until she starts hitting me. “How dare you not tell me he was here last night! I can’t believe you, Baz.”

“I’m sorry. Simon wanted to spend some time with me alone.”

Penny looks between us incredulously before climbing off the bed. “Ew guys! Disgusting!”

I bring Simon back into my arms. Simon quickly does the sign for sex causing Penelope to look appalled.

“We didn’t have sex. He just—”

“I don’t want to know,” she says. “I should have never come in. Get dressed and come to the living room. We need to make a solution.”

Simon and I cuddle in bed for a few minutes until Penny starts loudly banging pots “in the kitchen.” I give Simon some clothes to wear, spelling them so they would fit him. We donated all his old clothes (although some were auctioned off for large sums of money), so we will have to buy him new ones.

I excuse myself so I can take a shower and when I walk back to my room, I see Penny and Simon chatting over a large plate of scones. I get dressed and go straight to the kitchen to make some food. I put the kettle on for tea and grab some bread.

“Did the Mage say anything to you about precautions for the spell? Do you have to cast at a certain time or do a dance or some shit?” I overhear Penny ask.

I hear the scribble of pen on whiteboard. I walk into the living room and see in that Simon has written that the spell needs to be cast at Watford. This brings up a slew of problems considering that the majority of the World of Mages thinks he is dead. Underneath of Watford he had written that Ebb, the goatherd or the Coven could probably help us.

“I say we somehow disguise Simon and go to the catacombs,” Penny says.

I don’t wish to go to the catacombs to see my mother’s tomb. On my quest to try and find Simon’s, I found myself crying at her tomb much too often.

“When?” I ask, hearing the toaster beep. I head back to the kitchen and spread butter and marmite on the slice.

“I say we go today,” Penny says. “Then tomorrow, we can announce the revival of the Chosen One on the podcast.”

Simon cringes at the name.

“Oh! That’s what I wanted to tell you when I came into your room. The support of your coming out about the relationship is through the roof. In certain areas of Britain, you were trending yesterday on Wizard-Wands. Our podcast got a spike in listens yesterday as well,” Penny says.

I didn’t share my story to become a queer icon for the World of Mages. I just wanted to try and humanize Simon so more people would see he was an actual person. He tried all his life to just be Simon and no one would ever let him be that.

Simon looks happy at the news. It brings me joy to see he isn’t angry.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Simon signs.

“Let me eat my toast. Not all of us inhale our food like you do,” I say to him. He flips me off and I blow him a kiss.

“You two are gross! I hate this,” Penny complains.

“So, you rather me be dead?” Simon asks.

“Never,” Penny replies.

The drive to Watford seems endless. Simon is in the backseat of my jaguar, using text to voice on my phone to complaining about how dumb he looks. I disagree. I spelled his hair to a dark brown and his eyes to a similar color. His eyes still carry a wave of power, but it is much more subdued. Penny caked his face with makeup. The cuts are still visible if you know they are there. He’s wearing a pair of trackies and a huge sweatshirt. He looks unrecognizable; so plain and basic and yet I want to push him against the car.

“Baz, tell Simon he looks fuckable, so he’ll shut up.”

“Si, you look fuckable.”

He doesn’t shut up. I want to pull over, push him into the seat, and fuck him. I don’t care if Penny is in the front seat. Something about the basic white British lad look does it for me.

“I fucking hate this shade of brown,” the automated voice says.

“It’s cute,” Penny tries.

“It’s mousy brown. Mousy brown is not cute.”

“You look like Dan Howell,” Penny says.

Simon used to be a fan of his. His ears perk up when he hears the name. That seems to make him more confidence in his appearance.

I pull up to the gates at Watford. I park the car and we all get out. Penny walks quickly to the gates, but before I catch up with her, I pin Simon to the side of the car.

“You are the must handsome man I have ever seen,” I say, planting a big, wet kiss on his lips. “Don’t forget it.”

I take his hand and we walk through the gates. We immediately head to the catacombs. It gets darker and danker as we move more in. The fire in my palm lights the way. Penny casts some protection spells around us, so we won’t be easily found. Simon shudders when we stop walking.

Penny puts down her backpack and takes out the few things we brought with us in case of emergency: blankets, food, lantern, and water. We agreed I would cast it, having my experience with the Sims games and my level of magic.

The fire in my hand evaporates. Penny lights the lantern and I get out my wand. Simon’s hand leaves mine. My hands suddenly feel cold and clammy.

“Ready?”

Simon nods.

“ **Let’s play Sims**.”

Simon drops to the ground for a second before his magic seizes him, causing him to float upright. He is surrounded by a swell of his own magic, causing him to have a golden aura. His hair and eyes have returned to their original colors. A large menu of things appears in front of us as if we were playing a game of the Sims. There are menus for looks, traits, everything. I’m suddenly overwhelmed. Penny doesn’t seem to be though and is already casting spells to find what we are looking for.

I want to explore; to see the groundwork for which his personality is based off of, to see what he would look like with blue hair, to see if I can remove those cuts from his face, and to see if I can make him be able to talk without a compulsion of a spell. Though I feel as though that would be invading his privacy and I can’t bear to that to him. Maybe one day he will let me see.

While Penny is trying frantically to try and figure out how to complete our mission, I take a quick glance at his skills that the Mage once gave him. I know I’m a hypocritic but nothing bad can come from just glancing at his skill sets. Ability to learn foreign languages is high as well as guitar levels (he never told me he could play) and sword fighting. His weak points are visual art (although I beg to differ), maths, and controlling impulsivity. I see a skill of talking is low, like really low. I wonder if the Mage meant that or it was never developed.

“Penny—” I start.

“Did you find something?” She asks, excitingly.

“No, but I did find his skill for talking is low. Do you think we should change it?”

I’m too scared to change anything even if I wanted to. I would be too scared that he would wake up from the spell with one thing changed and realize he didn’t want me anymore or that he would become a different person. I like the person that Simon is. But this is something so small, something that could only benefit him. He wouldn’t have to talk, but it might give him an easier access to.

Again, the hypocrite that I am raises to about midway from it’s almost zero threshold. If he gets angry with me, I could always change it back.

I exit that menu to the main one. I continue to scroll seeing nothing about death, lifespan, or aging. At the very bottom, I see a little settings button. I click it. It asks for a password. Penny looks surprised at my findings and casts a spell to unlock it. We found the motherload.

In front of us is a large menu with all things life and death. It asks about birthday (we’ve been celebrating the wrong day all along), birthplace, life expectancy, cause of death, even lovers. I navigate to the aging menu and quickly see the problem. The death menu that Penny is looking at says he should live until he is 90, but the under the aging menu it says he has a life expectancy of ten years. Penny puts his death for a random age, and I match it on the other menu.

With that completed, we close the menu, and Simon breaks from the spell, dropping to the ground. I rush to him, helping him to stand back up.

“Are you feeling alright?” I ask him, bringing him into my arms for a hug.

He nods against my shoulder. I let him go and he signs, “I feel fine.” He pats himself down, as if expecting a change, but finds nothing. “Did you change anything?” He signs again.

Penny is looking at me disapprovingly. I roll my eyes at her.

“I peeked in your skills library and increased the ability to speak. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I wanted to make it easier for you. I can change it back if you want.”

Simon opens his mouth and closes it again.

“Hey! I did all the hard work.”

He walks over to Penny and gives her a hug. They stand together for what feels like minutes.

“You guys didn’t do anything fun with me while I was stuck in build mode?” Simon signs.

“We didn’t want to invade your privacy.”

“Baz wouldn’t even check your personality traits. I’m sure there was a few that he would’ve changed.”

Simon laughs.

“Did you know that you have a maxed-out guitar skill?”

“I’ve never played.”

“Well apparently the Mage wanted you to. You have a pretty high cooking skill as well.”

Penny snorts. “You’re fucking with him.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m not.”

“Stop spreading lies,” Simon signs.

“I’m not lying,” I say. “I promise,” I sign to him.

I spell his hair and eyes again; this time orangey red hair and make his eyes a seafoam green color. He looks even better with red than brown. He takes my phone out of his pocket (we have to get him a new one) and he checks himself out.

“Much better than this morning,” he signs.

We drive home in much better spirits. Simon’s knacked and sleeps the whole way. His head rests on the passenger side window, drool pools from the corner of his mouth.

“Alright?” I ask Penny.

“It’s just been a lot,” she responds.

“Yeah.”

“Guess now we won’t be getting married,” she jokes.

I rub Simon’s knee, just to make sure he’s still here. “No. We won’t be.”

“Baz… I’m going to miss you.”

“Don’t make a scene, Pen.”

“How will my podcast survive without you?”

“Penny, were you this worried ten years ago?”

I see her shake her head in the rearview mirror.

“It’s just—I was just getting over the death. I was finally coming to terms that my best friend is dead and… now he’s back. I feel lost and angry. We were finally getting out of trouble’s way. We were both starting to be fine.”

“I wasn’t near fine,” I say.

“You wrote a book—”

“To try and cope. It didn’t help.”

“Are you going to leave me in the dirt now that he’s back?”

I wish we weren’t having this conversation in a car. It seems so insincere somehow.

“I never left you in the dirt before.”

“Guess you’re right.”

“I love you so much. You’ll find something to fill the hole once we move. You are a smart, capable, amazing woman. We aren’t going anywhere for a while, Pen. Don’t worry.”

Penny and I drop Simon at home before venturing out to buy him some clothes, a phone, and other essentials. When we get home, Simon is in the kitchen. There’s no fire which is better than his last attempt ten years ago when he tried to bake scones. I think there are still remnants in our oven from it. He jumps when we enter the flat.

“I bought you things,” I say, dropping the bags off in my bedroom. “Fashion show later, yeah?”

I sit next to Penny on the couch. Simon sits at the table and eats his eggs. His eyes are his original color, but his hair is still red. I spell it back to its original color. Penny reaches for the remote and turns on the telly.

After Simon finishes eating, he goes into my bedroom to try on clothing. He looks good in everything I bought him (as expected). It feels like old times; Simon’s laughing as he structs through the living room, we stuff our faces with takeaway, and watch telly. I haven’t been this happy in a long time, I don’t think Penny has either. She started crying after the sun set; she won’t let go of Simon’s hand.

I leave them be for a good while. I clean the dishes and tidy my bedroom, hanging up Simon’s new clothes and setting up his new phone.

He comes into my room around 11:30. I’m already in bed, scrolling through my phone.

“Penny’s gone to bed,” he signs.

I nod. He comes over to bed and sits beside me, resting his head on my shoulder. I continue to scroll through my Instagram, and he looks on with me. His hair tickles my chin.

“How is Penny?”

Simon gives me a thumbs up.

“Good. I was worried about her. I haven’t seen her cry in a while. It’s always a bit much when she does.” I put my phone away and put my arms around Simon. He reaches over me and grabs my phone. I guess he doesn’t feel like signing.

 _“Did you really like me with brown hair?”_ He writes.

“I like you with any hair color, love,” I say, rubbing his torso. “The red was particularly stunning with your complexion.”

He blushes. I love when he does that. It’s faint behind the cuts. He must’ve taken off the makeup because they are fully red.

_“Thank you for not doing anything while I was under that spell.”_

“I did do something though.”

_“It was only to help me.”_

I assume he’s talking about the talking thing, but I’m not sure. 

_“I don’t want to deal with Chosen One shit. Can I just pretend like I’m still dead?”_

“Don’t think the Coven would like that very much.” 

_“Fuck the Coven. I just want to be alone with you and Penny before everything blows up in my face. I don’t want interviews and photoshoots; I just want quiet.”_

“Then we’ll have quiet,” I sign.

He reaches up to kiss me on the lips.

“I love you,” I sign. He signs it back.

We sit in silence for a long time. I was convinced Simon was asleep until I hear a hoarse but soft-spoken voice say, “Basil,”

“Hm,” I say, trying to not show how excited I am to hear his voice willingly.

“Do you still want to marry me?”

I crane my neck to look at him. I kiss the top of his head.

“Of course, I want to marry you.”

“Even though I’m really behind on bake-off?”

I laugh. He joins in too.

“Yes. You are my chosen one after all.”

He cringes at the name.

“Sorry…” I speak.

He shrugs it off.

“I didn’t mean to call you that. I just…”

“It’s okay,” he says. He grips my shirt in his palm. “Let’s pretend I’m not the Chosen One tonight, yeah? A quiet night like I said.”

“Yeah.”

“I love you.” It’s so nice to hear him say that. 

\--

“Baz! Come here! Your fiancé is on the cover of a magazine,” Penny says.

“My fiancé is on the cover of a magazine. I wonder why,” I joke as I come into the living room.

This week has been a slew on nonstop press junkets for Simon. He doesn’t talk in any of them. He rarely talks in front of us, only when he feels like he wants to. The press junkets are entirely too much for anyone to handle, but I’ve been so excited for this issue of World of Mage-izines.

 **The Chosen One to Fight Once Again** is the headline even though Simon is officially retiring as World of Mage’s Chosen One. On the cover, he is wearing a dark blue collared shirt with a light sweater over it. His trousers are a grayish beige with white trainers. He’s sitting in a chair with a huge window behind him. He looks stunning. They didn’t try to photoshop his eyes or his cuts. He looks older, more mature, ever so handsome.

We scan the interview, not really reading it. There is another picture of him where he is standing up, leaning against the chair, looking off to the side.

The last picture has him leaning in a doorframe, his body leaning inward to face the other side of the doorframe. His eyes are closed, one of his arms is hanging down in the background. He is holding his sword; I didn’t know he could still access it. His other arm is up, holding a wand. In the background is an empty box. He’s wearing a different outfit: a white collared shirt with a black and white sweater on top. His light brown pants are held together by a brown belt. There is a cross around his neck. In the lighting he looks ethereal; only half of his face is seen showing a smattering of freckles beneath the cut. He looks relaxed, finally able to relax. There is something weirdly sensual about the photo. I want to climb into it and kiss him in the yellow light.

One day I’ll have a photoshoot with him. We’ll look really fucking hot together.

He comes home that evening with glitter on his face after a photoshoot. It’s the last day and we celebrate with good food and music. We dance around the flat, celebrating a difficult resume to life.

That night, I kiss Simon until my eyes droop closed from exhaustion. I cuddle up close to him and I think that ten years ago, this kind of bliss was unseen. Ten years ago, he was still a fighter. He was strong, sharp, and point around the edges. It’s nice to see him be soft and relaxed.

He looks beautiful in the morning when the sunlight hits him. His freckles glow, his skin a perfect tan. I kiss his forehead and drift back to sleep.

\--

The sun is hot on our wedding day, but not overbearing. It’s springtime and Pitch Manor is perfectly decorated. The tables are lined with beautiful, light flowers that match our lapels and my sisters’ flower crowns.

There aren’t many people in attendance; only my family, Penny’s family, and Ebb the goatherd. Penny officiates the wedding because Simon and I aren’t religious. We sign our vows meaning only Simon, Penny, and I can understand. All three of us cry.

I’ve never been this happy. The band is playing wonderful covers of all Simon and my favorite songs. All of Simon’s choices were from the early 2000s as he doesn’t know any recent music, but I don’t think that our guests mind. After much forcing, Simon asks the guitar player if he could try and play something. It’s like magic watching him. I grab my violin from inside the house and we duet. My sister Mordelia boos at the end of it. She says we need to keep our egos in check.

That night, we lie in our suits in the backyard, staring up at the stars.

“You know that night when you told me I was your chosen one.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad we chose each other.”

“I’m glad too.”

“Oh! si tu pouvais lire dans mon coeur, tu verrais la place où je t’ai mise!”

“I know where I am in your heart, Simon,” I say, squeezing his hand. “And I’m never going to leave it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check out this cool fanart by @cynopoe: https://cynopoe.tumblr.com/post/640120268258508800/art-for-the-fic-the-anniversary-effect-welcome
> 
> These photos inspired Simon's final photoshoot:  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/305330049742079409/  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/14988611249370587/  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/718605684287997490/


End file.
